Being Better To Your Fat Friend This Thanksgiving
Amidst all that cooking and eating, we are reminded of the bodies we don’t have, symbols of the lives we don’t lead.
M y family knows Thanksgiving. It’s our holiday: an extended family affair, with tables of food and nearly a case of wine. Everyone seems to end up in heartfelt, jubilant conversations. It’s my favorite way to spend time with my favorite people: cooking, eating, talking, connecting.
In my twenties, I spent the holiday with a different part of the family. I couldn’t wait for the boozy, reckless time I’d come to expect. But as the day unfolded, it was clear that this was something else: something quieter, less comfortable, more reserved.
No matter. We’d get to the food and the wine, and the conversation would come.
Once dinner was served, I sat down between a family friend’s aunt and uncle. The dishes began to make their way around the table, and I helped myself to a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
You should start with the salad, said the friend’s aunt. And maybe finish with the salad! Just salad for you. She laughed, taking the bowl from my hands.
My face flushed red, and I could feel myself recede beneath my skin. I felt so small and so big…
